


Fire Rises

by emstrange



Category: The Witcher (TV), The Witcher (TV) RPF, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Djinni & Genies, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Inspired by The Witcher, Mages, Magic, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Romance, Smut, Sorcerers, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26919004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emstrange/pseuds/emstrange
Summary: Geralt wants an easy life. After breaking the Djinn bond with Yennefer he just wants to earn his coin and keep his head down.What will he do when he's forced to intervene in a village domestic with a magical twist...(I also say the title in Bane's voice...I apologise! haha)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & You, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 106





	1. A Bath and a Beating

**Author's Note:**

> This will have a few chapters and it's a little love story for Geralt with a magical (non-mage) twist.  
> I've taken one small influence from Charmed.
> 
> I won't lie, I thrive on comments and feedback! Please let me know what you think :)
> 
> Warning: Slight implied abuse, slight violence, slight mention of smut.  
> Note: Fleder - Lesser Vampire

Geralt walks into the village with Roach slowly trotting behind him.

After clearing the nearby cemetery of Fleder’s, he’d attempted to ride her back to collect his coin but she’d been less than enthusiastic about that plan. The young vampires had fought much harder than he anticipated and Roach was not about to let her blood covered master hoist himself up onto her pristine saddle. Especially when the village was within walking distance.

So, Geralt walks as quickly as he can, hoping to cash in some coin for a warm bath and a mug of ale.

When he reaches the tavern, everyone disperses like he anticipated. Fine by me, he thinks, not ever in the mood to talk with bored patrons hoping to hear his battle stories or ignorant townsfolk throwing insults his way.

After collecting his fee and tossing some coin to the owner, he finds himself in a warm bath by a roaring fire. As he reclines, a knock at the door draws him from the quiet and he sighs. He begrudgingly allows the knocker entry and can’t help but perk up when a young woman enters. Her hair is messily tied back in a braid but from working all day, wisps of his had started coming loose and falling around her face.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I collected some clothes from your horse. I just couldn’t imagine you’d want to put…those…back on.” She says, motioning to the heap he’d made on the floor, “She’s beautiful by the way, your mare.” The young woman smiles warmly at him and places the fresh clothes on the bed.

Instantly Geralt bristles at the audacity of this young thing going through his belongings but at the mention of his horse he pauses.

“Roach allowed you to touch my things?” He asks and although he hadn’t intended it to sound quite as stern, he sees the young woman worry herself over his possible annoyance.

“Oh, um, yes she did. I’m sorry. I just…”

“No, no it’s…fine.” Geralt interrupts, not liking the uneasiness of her voice due to his petty irritation, “She just isn’t the kindest with strangers. I’m…surprised.”

The young woman visibly relaxes and a smile graces her face again. Geralt finds himself uncomfortable at his want to return the gesture. While taking care to avoid looking directly at the tub, the woman gathers his dirty clothes in her apron and moves back to a safer distance by the bed. He watches her bum as she bends and moves, interested in her choice to wear leggings and a long tunic instead of a dress or skirt. Not that he’s complaining. The leggings hug her behind very snuggly, showing off her curves.

“She was a sweetheart to me. Although I may have bribed her with an apple…or two.” She says once she’s turned back, brushing her hair out of her eyes, “Is there anything else you need? I’ll be sure to get these washed and back to you before you leave tomorrow.”

“A name?” Geralt asks before he can censor himself and the young woman blushes. Unfortunately, he’s unable to view it for long as a shift of his sore muscles makes him wince and his eyes close. He groans and reaches his hands to his shoulder. He hears the sound of fabric dropping.

“Are you okay?” Comes the concerned voice of the young woman and when he opens his eyes, Geralt sees that she has rounded the tub with worry on her face. The water is soapy, so he’s basically covered from the waist down but he still shifts somewhat uncomfortably, wanting to spare this sweet, young thing from any embarrassment she may feel. From the blush on her cheeks he assumes she’s not exactly used to attending to men in such a state of undress…especially a Witcher. He’s sure she’ll get a stern talking to from the owner for just being near him at all.

“It’s nothing.” He says, somewhat wary of her closeness. She seems sweet, but he’s been fooled by a pretty face before.

“My brother used to pull his shoulder while lifting haybales, I’d gotten quite good at working out the kinks, if you’ll let me?” She says innocently and Geralt can’t find it in him to say no to her hopeful expression. With a quick nod he returns his gaze forward as she shifts a stool to sit behind him, no hesitance in touching his silvery hair; still matted with gore.

“I still need a name.” He says, trying his best to keep his voice steady, even as soft, delicate hands meet the muscle of his shoulder. Geralt finds himself flinching even though the pressure is light and internally cringes when she mutters a soft “sorry” thinking she’d startled him. Get a grip of yourself, he tells himself.

“Y/N.” She answers while pressing along his shoulder, seeking out the worst of his pain, “I believe one of the men called you Geralt? Is, is that right?”

“It is.” He murmurs, surprised that she seems so unsure. Men have been greeting him more by his full name since Jaskier started that awful song.

Having almost sensed his confusion, Y/N jumps to explain herself.

“The men here talk…a lot.” She laughs and he finds his lips twitch in a brief smirk, “Aaaalways talking…I’m never sure if what they say is true so. Thought it best to check.”

Geralt tenses then sighs, relaxing more when she finds the knot in his shoulder and begins to massage it with careful precision.

“And, what did they say about the foul Witcher coming to slay the monsters?” He asks, knowing the answer will be less than pleasant considering the withered stares he received upon entering the village. For a second the grip of the young woman behind him hardens and he swears he can hear her roll her eyes.

“I’d rather not repeat to be honest. Bloody fools the lot of them.”

Y/N manages to ease the knot in the Witcher’s shoulder and can’t help but smooth her hands along to the other side of his neck. The scars that litter his back are nothing to her, she’s seen scars. She has scars. They don’t interest her as they seem to others. What does pique her interest are the goosebumps that break out on his skin when she lightly brushes her finger tips just so…almost as if he relishes the attention. But surely a man such as him is constantly fending off women, and men, desperate to get their hands on a piece of him.

Geralt of course notices her hesitance to stop touching him. He also notices how she avoids tracing the scars across his back and shoulders. She touches them on her way to the other side of his neck of course but it isn’t a touch of exploration, no in fact she doesn’t seem to be taking any notice of them at all. And she hasn’t once asked where they are from…something the whores he visits love to do. Other than their fake infatuation, Geralt hasn’t been touched so gently in…a very long time, and for a moment he’s scared it will end so soon.

However, when she reaches the other shoulder, she begins to knead as before. Geralt smiles to himself.

“I’m a big boy. You can say.”

Y/N snorts, thinking to herself ‘why yes indeed you are’ and her unrestrained laugh causes Geralt to let out a good humoured “hmm” of his own. Once her giggling subsides, she lets out a large sigh.

“Look, you know what they’ve said. It’s all bollocks. You’ve done this village a great service Geralt of Rivia and I for one thank you. For me…and for my brother.”

It doesn’t take the heightened senses of a Witcher to hear the sadness in Y/N’s voice and before realising it, Geralt has turned in the tub to face the young woman behind him who smiles softly despite the pain in her eyes.

“My father, stupid man that he is, goaded a bunch of the young men to investigate the happening’s in the cemetery…none came back…” She says, biting on her lip to distract herself from the pain in her chest, “he was younger than me...only 19…he only ever wanted to make our father proud. I told him it was impossible but…I was trading in the next town…if I’d been here, I’d have made damn sure he stayed away.”

The fury at the end of the sentence makes something ache deep in Geralt’s heart. Someone so young, clearly intelligent and dare he say, beautiful, shouldn’t be filled with such fury. Such sadness. It’s when she leans forward and gives him the briefest kiss on the cheek that he notices the bruises on her neck.

“Thank you, Geralt.” She says while pulling back and runs her thumb down his stubbled cheek, “You won’t hear it from them…but thank you. This village…this world, doesn’t deserve you.”

While she gently strokes his cheek, Geralt only just notices the thick leather cuff that’s tied tight around Y/N’s right wrist. A lock keeps it in place like some kind of heavy-duty bracelet. He carefully takes her wrist and moves it from his face, already missing her soft caress. Looking at the cuff, his instincts tell him it contains some kind of magic.

“Are you…a prisoner of some kind?” He asks, still inspecting her wrist. Y/N carefully extracts herself from his light grip. Pulling her wrist to her chest and holding it there.

“Of some kind.” She mutters sadly but before Geralt can register her words, Y/N is already up and away from the bath. Geralt clings to the edge of the tub so tightly he bends the metal, stopping himself at all costs from grabbing Y/N back to him. He wishes he’d had the foresight to memorise the feel of her lips on his cheek, but it happened so quickly.

He turns to face her as she gathers his dirty clothes.

“Is there is something…” He begins to say, but is cut off. Lucky really as he wasn’t sure what he was even about to ask. Whatever is happening with the girl, it’s none of his business and it’d be silly for him to involve himself in the affairs of others.

“Sleep well, dear Witcher.” Y/N says, opening the door, “You deserve the sweetest of dreams.”

And with that, he’s alone.

As he lays in bed sometime later, Geralt swears he still feels the tender touch of fingertips on his cheek. He wouldn’t say he’s not touched on a regular basis, no, monsters touch him when they attack, men touch him with a slap to the back or a punch in the face, and women touch him. Not often, but they do.

Every once in a while, the need for release from another becomes too great and he’ll seek out a brothel that will take his coin. The women do the job they’re paid for and he always makes sure to pleasure them as well…some even seem to enjoy feeling the scarred skin of a Witcher against them. Something to gossip about he imagines.

But, its been a long time since he’s felt the gentleness of another.

His romps are usually fast and hard, a quick release and then he allows their hands to roam as they see fit. Feeling out his war wounds. He’d go so far as to say he doesn’t even feel it anymore. The way their hands snake across his skin in curiosity or fake adoration…but Y/N.

Her affection felt real.

Geralt groans when he feels himself stir below the sheets.

“Fuck sake.” He growls and pushes himself onto his front, burying his head in the pillow. He will not touch himself to the memory of a simple caress to his cheek. It’s pathetic, he yells to himself, pathetic! Geralt swears into the pillow when his cheek begins to tingle with the thought of delicate fingers and without permission, his hand snacks down between his crotch and the mattress.

He closes his eyes and pictures Y/N’s lovely face. Her soft features and full lips. How her mouth parted after pulling back from kissing his cheek and the smell of lavender in her hair. Geralt holds his hardened cock and squeezes the base, wanting to conjure up a more explicit image to cum to, but all he can picture is the way her tongue moved around the syllables of his name and how her eyes glistened in the firelight. 

Geralt closes his eyes and humps down onto the mattress to the memory of how she stroked the pad of her thumb down the roughest part of his jaw and the honied smile she gave him before she left. “dear Witcher” she’d called him. Has anything he’s been called, ever sounded so sweet? He thinks not.

“Sorceress” Geralt groans as his hips thrust into the soft bedding below, knowing full well this young woman was anything but. He pictures the curve of her bottom in her leggings and the outline of her breasts in her tunic. Tight enough to show her soft figure, but mostly worn for comfort. Not like the tight bodices of the women in brothels.

In his mind he follows the line of her breasts up to her neck and that’s when he stops the adolescent activities of his hips.

Bruises. She’d had bruises. And her magic cuff…

All of a sudden, a scream is heard from outside and without another thought, Geralt pushes himself from the bed and gets dressed in record time, all the while hearing shouts of men and screams of women in the night outside the tavern. Knowing he shouldn’t get involved, he first looks from his window onto the village square below.

He sees groups of people, men and women, gathered with torches. Bedlam, is how Geralt would describe it but without seeing any actual threat he simply sighs and leans onto the window ledge, watching the people below.

After a few seconds, the groups turn to look in the same direction as men shout, pounding their fists against any hard object and stamping their boots against the ground. Women wail and some shout along with their husbands as a body is carried into the centre of the square. A man, carried by a group of other men and placed onto the ground.

An accident, Geralt thinks. Or did he in fact miss a lone Fleder? He swears internally at the thought of angry townsmen pounding on the tavern door demanding their money back or worse, trying to fight him for his ‘incompetence’. Wouldn’t be the first time.

However, all thoughts of that being the case fly out the window he’s spying from, as he watches another man enter the square dragging someone by the hair across the ground. Men start spitting and throwing things, some joined by women and children as the person is thrown onto the dead body.

Intrigued, Geralt concentrates on the person who’s been dragged and thrown to the ground, feeling instantly sick when he sees it’s Y/N.

Grabbing his belongings, he rushes into the square. Once again going against his own rule of not meddling in the affairs of men. When he gets down there, he’s horrified. He’s seen a lot in his time roaming the Continent but people spitting at a young woman covered in bruises and blood isn’t something he can say he’s used to.

Geralt grabs a woman by the arm and spins her to him, demanding to know what’s going on.

“Girl killed her own father! Burnt the whole cottage to the ground!” The shrill woman screams in his face, huffing audibly when he shoves her and pushes his way through the crowd. With all the noise he can’t hear what Y/N is saying but her bloodied face is fierce, and after struggling to stand she lets out an all mighty scream which would rival any warriors battle cry.

The crowd of people grows silent.

“You people WATCHED and said NOTHING while he BEAT and BERATED us. My brother lost his life because of this,” Y/N turns to kick her fathers’ body, “poor excuse of a man and I was NOT about to be next.”

“MURDERER!” People began to cry, “DEVIL!” and all of a sudden Geralt’s Witcher sense’s scream at him.

He looks at Y/N just in time to see flames lick up her legs and spread down her arms. She wasn’t on fire as much as she was touch by it. Caressed, in fact, by the bright yellow and red waves of heat. Y/N’s eyes become engulfed in red but before the fire is able to spread, Geralt sends a shock of magic through his palm directly into Y/N’s stomach, sending her flying and leaving her unconscious on the ground.

The crowd screams and shouts, some running from the Witcher and some gathering closer asking questions.

Geralt ignores them all and races to Y/N’s side, kneeling and looking her over without touching. She’s bruised and bloody, but doesn’t look too injured. A small beating he’d say…not that that doesn’t make his blood boil with rage.

What does quickly catch his attention, is the lack of cuff on Y/N’s wrist. He gently picks up her arm and turns it to look at her inner wrist, investigating the mark he sees there. It has the resemblance of a red tattoo, but from the condition of the skin he determines it’s a birthmark. In the shape of a flamed bird.

“You’re a Phoenix.” He whispers.


	2. Some Care and Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that has left a comment and/or likes. It means so much :)
> 
> Warning: Mention of abuse

Geralt doesn’t need to sense the gathering of people around him, he can hear their chattering and clear outcry for justice.

He thinks back to what he learnt about Phoenix’s all those years ago. Many, many years ago. They were rare back when magic was harnessed, older than chaos itself. From what he recalls, it runs in bloodlines but only women, the male Phoenix’s died out by trying to capitalise on their power and became greedy. Destroying themselves in the end.

“The devil!” A woman cries from behind him and Geralt rolls his eyes, standing up and whistling for Roach who muscles her way out of the stable by herself.

“If she were a devil, you’d be dead already.” He scoffs at the crowd of gathered townsfolk.

Roach approaches her master, pushing through the onlookers. He saddles his belongings as the town elders, one of whom was the man to drag Y/N across the square, rush to question him.

“Well then Witcher? What is it!” One cries at him and out of the corner of his eye, Geralt sees young men approaching with torches and swords. Roach whinnies, clearly sensing the impending danger and Geralt nods to her, the motion gaining confused glances from the townsfolk close enough to see.

“She’s a girl.” He grunts, placing his sword on his back for easy reach, “Nothing more.”

“She’s a murderer and a monster!” A young man shouts and spits in Geralt’s direction, “Think one would know another.” The young man holds out his sword and Geralt sighs.

“Don’t.” He says, shaking his head and bends down to collect Y/N. Roach bends slightly to allow him to deposit her in the saddle and lean her forward against Roach’s mane. The same man rushes at Geralt who snaps his attention hotly towards him. Stopping him with nothing but a glare from his amber eyes, “I said, don’t.”

“She must pay for her crimes, Witcher.” Says a town elder, “This is no business of yours.”

It isn’t, Geralt thinks. And for a moment he does consider pulling Y/N down from the saddle and handing her over. Either they’ll kill her before she wakes or the town will be ablaze by morning. And that’s if she’s able to contain herself, if not…well…she won’t last long anyway if memory serves.

Roach must sense his hesitance and makes her opinion known by stamping a hoof onto the ground and huffing at him. Geralt strokes down her nose and looks to the young woman precariously balanced against her neck. Taking this girl with him will open up a world of trouble. She may attack him and he’s had his fill of killing young women who’s only crime was being wronged by those around her.

Roach stamps her hoof again and Geralt smiles at her.

“I know.” He whispers and sighs, rolling his shoulders before addressing the elders, “This girl has magic. You’ll be dead before morning. Best let me take her and…dispose of the problem.” When he speaks again, he makes sure his voice carries across the crowd, “OR I can leave now and return tomorrow. Then whoever isn’t burnt to a crisp can give me their last coin to take care of her.”

As if on que, Y/N shuffles against Roach, waking up very, very slowly.

The townsfolk start to mutter and gasp in clear worry about the “devil” currently squirming in Roach’s saddle. When one of the elders looks to him and gives a curt nod, Geralt lets out a quiet breath he didn’t know he was holding.

As the crowd backs off, Geralt climbs onto Roach and readjusts Y/N back against his chest, securing her to him with an arm around her middle. Y/N, still in-between sleep and the waking world, grasps at his arm and holds it to her tighter, unconsciously wanting the warmth and security it provides. Geralt is sure he feels his heart stutter.

While manoeuvring Roach through the crowd, people still hiss and spit their hatred at Y/N and Geralt decides he needs to pick up the pace before he lets her burn the whole place to the ground.

After riding out of town and off the road, Geralt feels the young woman in front of his stir more, groaning as the feeling returns to her body. As she stretches her body, arching her back and pushing her behind closer to him, Geralt bites the inside of his cheek to stop the filthy thoughts from swimming around his brain. She’s injured, he reminds himself, and probably scared. He needs to tread carefully.

Unfortunately, tactful isn’t something they train Witcher’s to be.

“Umm,” Geralt mumbles, clearing his throat, “you’re okay.”

Y/N suddenly sits up straight, forcing Geralt to steady her with his arm. She looks around before settling back against him. Slumping, really.

“Really? Because I feel like shit.” She forces herself to say.

Geralt huffs out a small laugh, “I’m sure you do. Try to…relax. We’ll be making camp soon.”

He tries not to, but when Y/N relaxes against him and turns her head, nuzzling into his chest, he can’t stop himself from resting his cheek on her hair and inhaling that scent of lavender. Still present despite all the madness back at the village. It’s calming.

Sometime later, while Y/N sleeps against his chest, Geralt finds a well sheltered area near a river of clear water. The jostling of Roach making her way through the trees wakes Y/N up but for a moment she pretends she hasn’t, knowing full well that the Witcher behind her can probably tell by her breathing, but wanting a second to collect her thoughts.

Her father is dead.

He’s dead.

The thought makes her smile at first but then the realisation of how much joy his death brings her makes her audibly whimper and push her face harder into the firm chest behind. She feels Roach stop and Geralt very quietly whispers her name.

“I’m a monster.” She mumbles into the hair peaking out from his top and she moves a hand to clutch tightly at the fabric.

Geralt sighs and unhinges her hand, holding it in his to his chest instead. He has no words of comfort to offer her, not yet, not when he isn’t even sure what is happening. His knowledge of Phoenix’s is limited at best, he doesn’t know what being one means for this young woman. Instead he holds her to him for a moment as she softly cries. Not heaves of choked sobs, no, more the release of fear and tiredness that feels as though its seeped into her bones.

After she stops, Geralt gets them both down from Roach and sets up camp. When he gets back from collecting water from the stream, Y/N is still huddled on the fallen log he deposited her onto. Wrapped in his cloak and rocking quietly, still sniffing.

He makes the campfire and looks to her silently before he attempts to light it, she shrugs.

“I can’t control it like that…”

Geralt nods, filing that information away for later. Once he gets the campfire roaring, he boils some water and gets some medicinal herbs mixed up, all the while Y/N watches him work. She feels bad, offering no help. She can’t even get the fire going, something that she should definitely be able to do. What a mess. Thankfully she zones out, only coming back to reality when Geralt settles on his knees in front of her.

“Can you…um..” He mumbles, gesturing to the hood of the cloak. As she lowers it, he takes a moment to asses the damage on her face. The dirt that had scuffed her cheeks now has tear tracks running through it, her eyes red and watery. He dips a rag in the clean water and starts gently scrubbing the blood and mess away. When he reaches her right eye, she winces and he mumbles an apology.

Y/N watches Geralt as he works, knowing he’s trying to be as gentle as possible but some of the dirt is stubborn. His forehead scrunches into more of a frown than usual and his lips part as small puffs of air tickle her cheeks. From his little titbits of information, she can ascertain she had a black eye, a graze on the opposite cheek, more bruising on her neck and a cut near her nose.

“He went easy this time.” She scoffs humourlessly once he’s finished and smoothed some medicinal paste onto her injuries. As he’s pulling back, Geralt notices the wince and sharp intake of breath as she takes off his robe. Sighing, he scratches at his head before settling back on his knees, gesturing to her stomach.

“It’s fine.” She says quickly, trying to slow her breathing from the pain. Geralt looks incredibly guilty.

“Please.” He asks softly but makes it clear he’s staying put until he gets a look at the damage.

Y/N relents and leans back a bit, pulling her dirty tunic up to reveal bruising along her ribs and a red welt in the middle of her stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better, only the welt was you, I think. That doesn’t hurt too much to be honest.” She says, gently poking at the red mark to prove her point and laughs a bit to try and lighten the mood. When Geralt doesn’t answer, she looks up from her stomach to see him staring intently at the swelling, “Geralt, it’s fine. You…did what you had to do.”

“Mmm.” Is all Geralt says as he leans forward to rub some paste onto the bruised skin, putting his head very close to Y/N’s chest as he leans down. He hears the audible click of her swallowing, something he puts down to pain and her uneasiness of him being so close to her unclothed skin. Like with her face, he tries to be gentle but he knows the many years of fights and tough living have made his hands calloused and rough.

If only he knew how much Y/N enjoys having those rough fingertips on her skin.

After making sure the bruises are covered, Geralt pulls back to wash his hands and gives Y/N a clean(ish) top to wear instead of her bloodied, torn one. He gives her some privacy and then settles on the other side of the campfire.

For a very long moment, they both sit in silence, before Y/N breaks the tension.

“Thank you, Geralt. For saving me.” She whispers into the fire, chancing a glance up at him but finds herself unable to look away once she does. The fire highlights his features and makes his amber eyes glow even more, “I guess…I should…explain.”

Geralt doesn’t answer but he meets her eye, taking note of how she picks at loose threads of his top. Which engulfs her. His slow heartbeat picks up at the thought that now her scent of lavender is mixed with his.

“So, my mother…that’s where I get it from.” She starts, rubbing her birthmark with her thumb, “When she left…my father decided to raise me as…‘normal’.” She stops briefly after Geralt scoffs, causing a small smile to grace her face, “He paid a sorcerer to make the cuff.”

“It kept you from using your power.”

“And from anyone asking questions…I was 8 then and the cuff kind of just, grew with me.”

Geralt nods, knowing that such things aren’t looked upon kindly but a sorcerer or mage in need of coin could be easily persuaded to leave morals aside and make a magical cage.

“Thing is…there was a price. That I didn’t know about.” She carries on and Geralt notices how the campfire grows in size, “When I got home from the tavern, he was drunk, as usual…and we got into an argument about…things.”

“Your brother.”

“Yeah…anyway. It turned nasty like it always does but then he started to go on about how I wouldn’t be a problem for much longer.” Y/N laughs but it’s bitter and without a trace of humour behind it. The fire crackles to life and she sees Geralt sitting up straighter, like a cat ready to pounce if needed. She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down and carry on, “Apparently the sorcerer who made the bracelet did so under the agreement that…”

“He could call upon you when needed.” Geralt interrupts, knowing exactly who would make such a deal, “Stregobor.”

He looks across the campfire and Y/N nods.

“I don’t know why he wants me…but…I feel like…it’s bad.” She whispers, eyes welling and fire dwindling to just a sad little flicker. Geralt sighs and rubs his forehead, "I'm sorry that I've dragged you into this mess Geralt. You can, just leave me here. I have no coin or anything to offer you for your protection apart from my thanks. But I don't expect you to babysit me."

He could leave her, he thinks. Maybe give her some of his own coin to tide her over. Drop her at the next town and be on his way. 

It makes the most sense. 

Geralt is pulled from his thoughts when he sees Y/N shiver and yawn. Straight away he gets up and retrieves his bedroll from Roach, laying it close enough to the fire. 

"Sleep now, we'll talk more in the morning."

Y/N opens her mouth to protest, but Geralt shoots her a look which leaves little room for negotiation, and as she settles on the bedroll, Geralt's cloak wrapped around her, she whispers a thank you into the night. Knowing his heightened hearing will pick it up despite his lack of response. She then falls asleep to the crackling of the fire and the comforting smell of Geralt engulfing her senses. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ps. Name will change from Y/N to a nickname pretty quickly! But will still be reader.


End file.
